Shadows of a Former Life
by Wepdiggy
Summary: A terrible incident ends the promising career of young CIA operative Sarah Walker. Five years later, she finds herself thrust back into that world, with only the help of a geeky computer tech named Chuck along for the ride.


_A/N: Okay, so I promised three story updates for **Catrogue**'s birthday, and now I am delivering. Admittedly, this was not the story I thought would debut today. I couldn't quite get the other one finished, and that makes me sad. But on the bright side, this is a "pilot" (for lack of a better term) that has been sitting on my hard drive for a long, long time. And luckily, I backed it up before my computer issues a couple months ago. So I did a little editing (not as much as I'd wanted), and decided it was time for the world to see this. Now, I do still have two other active stories, so I don't know when this will be finished/updated. But it should be a pretty quick story. Maybe 8 or 9 chapters, at the most. So it may take precedent as I think I can finish it in a reasonable time. But no promises either way. In any case, I hope you enjoy this start, and happy birthday, Cat!_

_Disclaimer: I have no financial claim to **Chuck **or any other entity that may be referenced herein. So, yeah, don't sue me._

* * *

**Chapter 1: Plan B**

Truth be told, Sarah wasn't crazy about the idea of being a part of a "team." The only teamwork she'd ever really been a part of was with her dad. And while the time they spent together, driving all over the country and taking money from suckers who weren't smart enough to hold onto it was still the best time she'd had in her life, that hadn't ended ideally. Well, there was also the Academic Bowl team she'd joined in high school, but because of her shyness, and her distrust of anyone who wasn't her father, that had also ended badly.

But now Deputy Director Graham—the man that had both taken her life away, and given her a new, better life all in one day—had assured her that it was an honor to be chosen for such an "elite force," so Sarah did her best to shake off any reservations she had about having to rely on others.

True, Amy—the other blonde in the group—was a bit of an airhead. Zondra—with her dark eyes, dark hair, and olive skin—seemed to have rage issues, and possibly too much ambition for her own good (her dad always told her that a man with his eye on the future would never see your hand reaching for his wallet). Then there was Carina, who was the most experienced of the lot. Which was to say she was the only one of them with any real field experience. Carina had fiery red hair, a light dusting of freckles, and looked for all the world like some Euro-trash model. And she was okay, even if she seemed to have a giant stick up her ass, and all of her anal-retentive attention to detail made Sarah want to pull that stick out, and beat her with it. Maybe if Sarah could teach the redhead to loosen up a bit, she'd be much more tolerable. Plus it would probably do Carina well to learn to improvise a little.

But on the whole, the other girls didn't seem completely incompetent. And being a part of this "Cat Squad" was getting her out in the field faster, and with better missions. So there was a definite upside.

Like, for instance, their first real mission together. Parachuting onto a secluded, uncharted island that belonged to some big-to-do Middle Eastern oil sheik with nefarious connections, so that they could infiltrate his harem of lady-servants, and gather evidence that he was indeed linked to some people with bad intentions for Western society.

It was like a giant con, and that made Sarah feel right at home. Plus there was the sky-diving, which was a new-found joy Sarah had discovered during her training at The Point. That and piloting. But if she wasn't flying the plane, jumping out of it was almost as much fun.

The joy she felt, sailing through the air as if nothing in the world mattered, the weightlessness, the solitude, it was all so freeing. Which is why when it came time to jump, Sarah was on her feet in no-time, ready to be the first out of the plane. And it was why she finally had time to really evaluate her entire situation. And it was why she was shocked back into reality when she felt something pulling her into a precarious feet-first position.

Sarah looked down, and saw her new partner Amy attached to her leg. She had to fight the urge to kick the other blonde off of her. Not that she still wouldn't, but Sarah decided it would be prudent to figure out just what was going on first.

Reaching up to tap a button on her headset, Sarah activated the microphone.

"Amy, what the hell are you doing?" she gasped out.

"M-my shoot won't open," Amy said desperately. "I pulled both cords, but nothing happened."

Sarah groaned. She couldn't just abandon her comrade. That would certainly be frowned upon by her superiors, even if having Amy hold onto her would make things very awkward. Still she had to try.

"Fine," Sarah said. "Hold on tight, I'm gonna pull."

Just as Sarah deployed her chute, and she and Amy were yanked up, Sarah felt like her leg was being pulled off. She felt a sharp, blinding pain. And then there was only blackness.

* * *

**Six Months Later**

When she was in private, Sarah still walked with a bit of a limp, but she'd managed to hide the pain enough to walk normally when she was around the doctors that would have to medically clear her to return to full-time duty. And going to Graham's office, she popped a few vicodins, and strode as normally as possible to (hopefully) get her next assignment, after so long on the shelf.

She'd had a few phone conversations with her mentor since her emergency extraction and rescue from her impromptu (and unconscious) ocean landing. He called her right after her artificial hip was installed. Amy had effectively ruined her hip during the incident.

He called her again when she started her physical therapy. And he called on her birthday. Not that a birthday really meant that much to her, but she supposed it was a nice sentiment.

Usually he would ask how she was doing. Assure her that no one blamed her for Amy's death. The conversations were usually pretty light, and nothing of substance was discussed. That is, until he called her and said he needed to see her in his office.

Graham's receptionist had apparently been told to look out for her, because Sarah was let right in when she arrived.

Graham wasn't behind his desk when Sarah entered. He was instead standing, facing away from the door and staring out his window. Sarah had to admit, it was a pretty nice view.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"It's good to see you walking without your cane, Agent Walker," Graham said as he turned around.

"I haven't used that thing in a couple of months, sir." At least, not in public. But she didn't mention that part.

Graham sighed. "I'm a Deputy-Director of the CIA. Please don't insult me, Agent Walker."

Suddenly, Sarah was a lot less hopeful. If he knew that she was still hobbled, far beyond what she'd let on to anyone who saw her, he also probably knew about her dependence on pain killers. Hell, he probably knew everything.

"I know I'm not exactly 100 percent—"

"You had a full hip replacement," Graham said, cutting her off. "Every tendon you had was shredded. Your leg was pulled completely out of its socket, and then jammed back in when you made impact with the water. The joint filled with your blood, as you managed to kick to stay afloat, which is a credit to your strength, determination, and survival instincts, but you don't _have_ a 100 percent anymore."

"But I can still—"

"You can barely walk," Graham cut her off again.

Sarah couldn't lift her gaze off the floor. Couldn't stand to look into the eyes of the man that seemed intent on stealing her future once again.

"I'm tough, sir," she said meekly.

He chuckled at that. "Damn right you are. Hell, I don't know that I have another agent that could even attempt walking on their own in your current state. You managed to run two miles in under twelve minutes while barely breaking a sweat."

Sarah lifted her chin proudly, but didn't speak.

"And a clever trick, dehydrating yourself for two days so you wouldn't break that sweat."

Her head fell again. She really didn't think anyone would catch that.

"Sir," she paused. Sarah hated begging, but she was left without a choice. "Director Graham, this is all I have. Please, sir—"

"Sarah," he said, stepping in front of her, not quite in her personal space, but much closer than he had been. "You completed your BA in Applied Linguistics from Georgetown in two years. You graduated from the Harvard B School—"

"With all due respect, sir—"

"'With all due respect?'" he asked, laughing again. "Is that your way of telling me to kiss your ass?"

She knew he was trying to lighten the mood. He was her mentor. After her dad went away, he was the only one she could really talk to about what was going on in her life, because despite her mom's best efforts, she just didn't get it. In many ways, Graham was like family. Maybe not quite a father figure, but at least a very influential uncle. And because of that, he'd always tried to look out for her. But why couldn't he look out for her by letting her continue to work?

When she didn't answer him, Graham continued. "The thing is, under normal circumstances, we'd move someone as talented, as intelligent as you into analysis if you were no longer field capable."

Sarah tensed. Even though she knew that was the point he'd been making all along, to hear it put so bluntly as "no longer field capable" snapped what little hope she had left. She'd be flying a desk for the rest of her life. She'd be on the path to becoming some old, dried-up bitty, listening into a conversation between the president and information minister of Bum-Fuckistan, trying to decipher if the president had a sore throat, or lymph node cancer.

She swallowed, hard. "Sir, I can't—"

"But I knew you were a special case."

Sarah breathed a sigh of relief.

"I figure you'd have lasted three weeks—maybe—sitting at a desk before you went batshit insane, and started picking people off from a clock tower."

"There isn't a clock tower here, sir," Sarah pointed out.

"It's a figure of speech, Walker," Graham said. "But the important part is, I knew I couldn't do that to you."

"Thank you, sir," Sarah said. She saw her opportunity right before her, and she was going to grab it before he tried to take it away, again. "I know it's unconventional, putting someone like me back in the field, but I can promise you—"

But he didn't fall for her ploy, unfortunately.

"Which is why I'm granting you a full, and unconditional release from your contract with the Agency."

Sarah was in shock. Sure, she knew it was a possibility. Especially if they knew about her new little habit, but even still, she wasn't ready when the hammer dropped.

"Sir, please don't—I promise, I'll never take another pain killer. I'll—I'll—"

"This isn't about the vicodin, Sarah. Hell, the fact that you haven't overdosed with the amount of pain you must be in is almost a miracle in itself."

"Then it's Amy, right? I'm sorry I didn't save her. I'm sorry that she—that she—"

Graham's voice took on an uncharacteristically soothing tone. "No one blames you for Amy. That was just bad luck. It happens. You did more to try to help her than most would have. I would've just kicked her off my leg when she latched on."

Morosely, Sarah thought that she should have done just that. It wasn't like the thought didn't occur to her at the time. But still, that left her without an answer.

"Then why are you taking away my life?" she begged. "What am I supposed to do?"

"You're supposed to live," Graham said, almost condescendingly. "You have an MBA. You're the smartest, most resourceful recruit I've ever encountered, and you're still young enough to do whatever you want."

"I _want_ to be a spy!" Sarah protested, her voice rising just a little more than she'd intended.

"You'll die," Graham said dryly.

"I don't care," Sarah snapped back unblinkingly.

Graham frowned, but he didn't rise to her bait anymore.

"Fine," Sarah said, after the silence in the room started to feel heavy. "If I can't be a spy, then I'll do the only other thing I know how to do."

She didn't spell it out, but she knew Graham would know what she meant. It wasn't like he didn't remember where he found her, after all. And the sheer petulance in her tone was enough for anyone to figure out that she was suggesting something he wouldn't approve of. That she was going to turn back to a life of crime.

"That's certainly an option," he conceded. "Of course, if you were to choose that route, I'd be forced to assist in arresting you. And you know all too well that I would be successful."

"Then what?" Sarah asked, sounding far more pathetic than she ever wanted anyone to hear her sound.

Graham opened a slim folder on his desk that Sarah had largely ignored since she entered the office. Inside, there was only a business card.

"I called an old _acquaintance _of mine."

The stress he put on the word "acquaintance" let Sarah know how difficult it must have been for her mentor to reach out to this person. In the world of espionage, you were bound to have dealings with people you didn't like. Even if they were on the up-and-up, some people were just douchbags. By the sour look on Graham's face, Sarah surmised that this contact was one of those people.

"Skip Galweather," Graham said handing the card to her.

Sarah took the card—a plain white card, with the name "Skip Galweather" embossed in gold print with a telephone number below it—and stared at it, her eyebrows knitting together as she pieced something together in her head.

"Wait, _Galweather & Stearn_, Skip Galweather?"

"You're familiar with them?" Graham asked.

Sarah shrugged her shoulders. "When I was in my last semester in B School, I got invited to a mixer they were having for promising up-and-comers. I didn't go, of course."

The truth was, when she wasn't busy with class or studying, Sarah busied herself with training. It's what had made her such a promising young recruit. It's why she was chosen to go into the field so quickly when her school and training were complete. It's also why she never had even the slightest hint of a social life. Or a dating life. Or any life, other than the life the CIA gave her.

Graham almost seemed to growl, as his mood suddenly turned dour. "That's probably for the best."

She didn't ask why. She took his word for it.

"So," she asked. "What exactly would they want with me?"

"Oh," Graham said, his cocking an eyebrow. "Well, you see—"

* * *

**Five Years Later…**

Sarah hadn't been keen on the idea of going to work in the private sector when it was first introduced to her. It seemed boring. And even if it wasn't boring, she was a little afraid that her old instincts would crop up, and she'd take the suckers employing her for everything they were worth, and skip town.

Not that she'd have any compunction taking their money. In many ways, her employers were the embodiment of everything wrong with America. But Graham had trusted her. Had told these people that _they_ could trust her. And for whatever reason, she didn't want to let him down.

Plus it helped having health insurance when it came time to get her prescriptions refilled. Then again when she decided it was time to wean herself off the drugs.

So she sucked it up, and went to work. What she found was, the job she was given wasn't so bad, after all. She still wasn't a big fan of the people she worked for. She still thought they were horrible people, and probably deserved to be in jail, if there was any justice in the "justice" system. But she was getting to use her training.

Being a corporate spy was certainly different than being a CIA operative, but the gist was the same. Infiltrate, coerce, gather, report. The only difference was, in the private sector, she was in no danger of being turned into a soulless assassin (a secret fear she'd held throughout her CIA training).

Even twice, she'd uncovered companies who were not operating within the law, and had turned them into the SEC. Sure, her bosses hadn't been happy about losing clients, but Sarah stood her ground, reminding them that Graham had been upfront when they hired her that she wouldn't play fast and loose with the law. She'd left her carelessness in her youth. She had the reputation of being a huge hard ass. A reputation Sarah quite liked.

She liked almost everything about her job, in fact. Sure she could do without the management of the company and the other employees. They all sucked, as people. But she was usually able to avoid any and all interaction with them, as her position kept her on the road 45 weeks a year, and she vacationed another three. True, her vacations usually found her holed up in her small one-bedroom apartment in Burbank, reviewing her own case files for anything she may have missed, but it was relaxing enough for her.

The problem was the other four weeks. Once a quarter, Sarah had to work out of the main office, reviewing security protocols, and making sure someone like her couldn't maneuver information from within the _Galweather & Stearn_ walls.

She hated security reviews. They were so boring. Nothing ever changed. Ever. Nor was there ever even an inkling of a true security threat. And on top of that, making sure information was safe seemed almost counterproductive to her job. She was the one that was supposed to make things _un_safe.

Her eyes were starting to hurt as she read through yet another internal call transcript. She'd been picking at the cob salad she'd ordered for lunch for over an hour, but hardly any of it had disappeared from her plate. Her coffee mug, on the other hand, seemed to have a hole in the bottom of it. She'd lost count at seven cups, and that was sometime during her second hour of the day. She was now on hour six.

Sarah sighed in frustration and slammed the cover of the notebook she'd been working through. If this guy had managed to couch plans to steal _G&S_ secrets within an hour long conversation about misleading his wife into thinking she'd gotten HPV from a toilet seat, and not from him via one of the many hookers he'd visited, then he deserved to steal whatever he wanted.

Sarah glared at the next report, running her hand over the outside cover, almost daring it to bore her more than the last.

But boring or not, it was still a part of her job, so resigning herself to more mind-numbing reading, she cracked the report open and started to read.

At least this wasn't another email chain, or phone transcript. This was instead a business model for some company she'd never heard of. Undoubtedly this was a potential client in the pre-screening process. Still, it seemed innocuous enough.

Nothing seemed completely out of line with the company's records. Sure, it was a little unclear what they did, but Sarah herself worked for a management consultation firm. It's not as if _G&S_ had a lot to show for the work they did, either.

For the amount of capital this potential client was reported to have, there did seem to be an almost startlingly small number of full-time employees. But the initial business model said that they depended on many independent contractors to complete jobs for them, whatever it is their jobs were (Sarah still wasn't sure). So even that didn't raise any red flags.

Most of their board members apparently demanded anonymity, but Sarah had seen that before in other companies. No doubt they were high-ranking officers with other companies, and didn't wish to have the public at large know how many different pots they had their fingers in.

In fact, the only notable, and identified board member was also, apparently, the company's largest investor. And it was certainly a name Sarah knew. But then, anyone with any idea of what was going on in the tech world knew who he was.

But by all accounts, he had more money than God himself. His entrepreneurial days were supposed to be way behind him. Sarah was suddenly much more interested in this strange little company. Why would Ted Roark have taken such an interest in this Fulcrum Corp?

Whether it was some natural intuition, or just curiosity born of complete boredom, Sarah decided she'd spend her afternoon digging up anything and everything she could on this Fulcrum.

What information she could find was scant, to say the least, and confusing to boot.

According to her research, Fulcrum was a company that dealt largely in robotics, which would make the Roark connection make sense. But on top of their robotics research, they also seemed to sell timeshares, develop suburban communities, and provide personal security.

Either this Fulcrum was an entire company made up of people with ADD, or something was fishy.

Ordinarily, whenever a potential new client with a capital the size of Fulrcum's came onto _G&S_'s radar, Sarah would be sent out herself to dig up whatever she could find on them long before business was ever officially discussed. But until she had to review an already approved client profile, Sarah had never heard of this company, which only added to her skepticism.

But skeptical or not, she was at a dead end. The company website wasn't helpful at all, and only told her what she already knew, which was that Fulcrum was indeed an actual company that did something.

She'd made a few phone calls to contacts she'd made in the corporate world, but even the very few people she spoke to that had heard about Fulcrum weren't able to give her any substantial information about them.

"Who are you?" she muttered to herself, her fingers idling over her MacBook keyboard.

There was only one other thing that she knew to try.

The client profile included email addresses for several executives within Fulcrum's ranks. Accessing an email account without authorization, especially when not directed to do so by her employer, fell deep into the gray—bordering on black area of the law that Sarah generally tried to avoid. She couldn't very well claim her moral high ground when she turned potential or existing clients into the SEC when she was herself was acting so far outside the law.

But if someone inside the government looked for her, and just relayed the information, then she wouldn't be doing anything wrong. In fact, it would be responsible of her. She'd be informing someone with the power and position to do something about Fulcrum, if it was indeed a threat.

Sarah reached into her handbag, and pulled out her personal phone, so her actions couldn't or wouldn't be tied to the company, and so no one at the company would be privy to her call.

She thought that the situation was probably too vague to contact Director Graham. He was her mentor and all, but at the end of the day, be was simply too busy to bother him with her day-to-day problems.

She still had numbers for the remaining CATS, Zondra and Carina. It had been about a year since she'd spoken to either of them, and calling up and asking for a favor out of the blue seemed to Sarah to perhaps be in poor taste.

But there was one other person she thought she could maybe call. There was a guy she met during her training. She always got the impression that he had kind of a thing for her, though she was too focused on her career at the time to really think about it, or pursue anything, even if he was quite easy on the eyes.

They lost touch for a few years, but he'd contacted her, about three months ago to help him secure a cover for some assignment he was working. While he was in town, they'd had dinner, and caught up a little. As much as an active field agent could catch up with any outsider—and it still hurt Sarah's heart a little that she was an outsider—could.

Bryce was every bit the looker Sarah remembered him being. Maybe better, in fact. And being a man on the road, he'd been none-too-subtle in his hints that he'd be open to a fling with her while he was working that job. But as tempted as she was, Sarah declined.

She wasn't a prude by any stretch, but still, she was never the type for a one-nighter. She required a certain level of effort from a potential partner. Maybe it would've been different if she was still with the Agency, but the fact is that she wasn't. She could afford to be a little pickier about who she allowed into her bed.

But even though she'd rejected him, Sarah felt like they parted on good terms, and he'd left her with his number, so she didn't feel at all out of line in contacting him about her problem.

Her call went to voicemail, which didn't surprise her. If Bryce was working out in the field, he had to be careful about taking calls. It wouldn't do to break a cover just for, what she was sure he thought was a simple booty call.

She left him a short voicemail with her name and number, letting him know that she needed to ask him about something for her work. It only took five minutes for him to return the call. She knew he was into her.

"Sarah? I'm surprised to hear from you," Bryce said when she answered.

"Are you?" Sarah asked. "You're a charmer, Bryce. I'm sure you're not used to it taking this long for a girl to call you back."

Bryce laughed. "Maybe, but I got the impression from your message that you'd rather speak about business than pleasure."

Sarah mock sighed. "Sadly, that's true," she said. "We'll have to put aside the pleasure until another time."

"I'll hold you to that," Bryce said.

"Anyway," Sarah said, clearing her throat. She was glad Bryce couldn't see her, as she was sure she was blushing a little. She'd become quite good at flirting over the years, but clearly she was out of her depth with Bryce Larkin. "I came across a company that, well, they have government contracts, but I can't tell _what_ they do exactly. And their entire portfolio looks a bit off."

She heard Bryce typing away in the background. "Ordinarily, I'd say it's probably nothing," he said. "And it still may be, but for you, I'll look into it. What's the company called?"

"Fulcrum," Sarah answered.

The line fell silent. Seconds rolled on with nothing coming from the other side, and she was sure her call had been dropped. She was just about ready to hang up and try again, when Bryce finally spoke.

"Sarah, I can't tell you too much about them, but here's what you need to know."

"What?" Sarah asked.

"Stay away. They're dangerous. And not in a 'they can destroy your career,' way. They're dangerous, well, just in general."

Sarah nearly scoffed. She wasn't scared of a little danger. It was exciting to think about, in fact. But the tone in Bryce's voice, the serious nature of his threat gave her pause.

"Okay, Bryce. If you say so."

"Good," Bryce said. He sighed deeply, his voice becoming much more relaxed again. "Good. I don't want to see you get hurt over this."

"I'll keep my distance," Sarah said. "And thank you."

"You're welcome," Bryce said. "I'm always happy to help my favorite corporate spy. And besides, you can pay me back the next time I'm in town."

"Uh-huh," Sarah said. "No promises. I'll talk to you later, Bryce."

"Bye, Sarah."

The call ended, and Sarah put her phone away. She thought about what Bryce had told her. About how dangerous Fulcrum was. And for a moment, she even considered just dropping her investigation. For a moment.

* * *

**Burbank Buy More**

Sarah pulled her 2005 Porsche 911—the one luxury she allowed herself—to a stop in the parking lot of the Buy More plaza. As was her usual practice, she parked as far away as possible, where there were no other cars. She lived in a small apartment, she didn't have a wardrobe stocked with designer labels except when she needed to be dressy for a work assignment, and even then those purchases were made with a company expense account.

She had a really nice car, and she intended to keep it that way.

Digging into Fulcrum Corp. had indeed been dangerous. Not in that there had been any threats to her person, but some vicious malware had wrecked her MacBook, and she needed it fixed as soon as possible so she could get back to work on uncovering whatever this organization really was.

Sarah stuffed her laptop into her bag and made sure her makeup was even. Looking her best, she knew, would only help get better, quicker service.

She climbed out of her car and started her long walk to the big-box store. Below the standard Buy More sign was a gold and green banner that announced a "Re-Grand-Re-Opening."

"That's a lot of 'Res,'" she muttered to herself. She wasn't sure why the store was re-re-opening, or why it had been closed, and quite frankly, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

When she walked through the sliding glass doors, she became sure that she didn't want to know. The store was a zoo. Undesirables in green shirts, and white dress shirts buzzed about, none of them seeming to do any actual work.

Sarah looked around and saw a large gathering of the people in dress shirts congregating around the Nerd Herd—Buy More's tech support specialists—desk.

"We're still behind, people," the tall one—Chuck, according to his nametag—said, showing a chart to the other Nerd Herders, presumably his team since he was the one giving out orders. "We knew we needed 100% participation to compete with the Green Shirts, yet we're still losing. Look guys, I," he paused and shuddered, "_dislike_ needles as much as the next guy."

"Or girl," added a short but attractive Asian woman. The only woman dressed in the shirt and tie combo, from what Sarah could tell.

"Okay," Chuck said. "I dislike needles as much as the next _person. _But this blood drive is important."

"How'd they get to you, Charles?" asked the swarthy, rodent-like one.

"What are you talking about Lester?" Chuck asked, clearly trying not to roll his eyes.

This Lester stood to his full height, still _much_ shorter than Chuck. "Charles, it's clear that someone is after our blood. This is undoubtedly a plot to ascertain our blood type, right Jeffrey?"

Lester turned to look at the balding, burned-out looking man beside him. The answer was not in the affirmative. Not really, anyway.

"Ass type," Jeffrey nodded.

"Jeff! Focus!" Lester demanded. "Anyway, Charles, we have come to the conclusion that this whole blood drive setup is an excuse to learn our blood types so our organs can be harvested!"

Chuck looked flabbergasted. Or worse. In fact, if Sarah wasn't mistaken, his eye was starting to twitch. Oh, but the two idiots weren't done.

"Plus," Lester added, "Jeff doesn't allow anything to be taken out of his body."

"Not unless they're willing to put it back in," Jeff specified.

"I—look, guys, it's not like you've never had your blood drawn before, right? Lester, surely a doctor has done some lab work or something. Jeff, you've had an AIDS test before, right?" Chuck asked

"That doesn't run in my family," Jeff said dumbly.

Chuck cradled his face in one hand, and placed the other hand on Jeff's shoulder. "Jeff, that's not how AIDS works."

"Oh, it is for Jeff," Lester clarified.

Chuck snapped his head up to see Jeff nodding, with the most disgusting grin Sarah had ever seen plastered on his face. Quickly, Chuck snatched his hand away from the disgusting man's shoulder and began to back away.

Sarah decided then would be as good a time as any to finally get the attention of one of the employees, preferably Chuck, as he seemed to be the only competent one in the bunch. Plus he was cute enough, if you were into that tall, dark, and geeky thing. Sarah wasn't sure _what_ she was into anymore.

She walked over to the front desk and waited for someone to serve her. After standing there for almost two minutes, with no attention, she spoke up.

"Excuse me," Sarah spoke up over the murmuring amongst the gathered Nerd Herders. "Um, excuse me, can I get some help?"

"Sure, just a minute, ma—"

The words died on his lips as he looked up at her, and his jaw fell open. It wasn't a reaction Sarah was altogether unaccustomed to. Since the CIA taught her how to make herself more attractive, men—and some women, had fallen all over themselves for her. To this Chuck's credit, his gaze seemed to be more of the complete and utter awe, and not pure, lecherous lust.

"Sarah, you can call me Sarah," she said, filling in the silence that had fallen over him, and extending her hand.

The look of amazement didn't leave his face, but he hesitantly took her hand. "Chuck," he mumbled, before clearing his throat. "I'm Chuck."

He looked down at his own nametag, which was very prominent.

"But then, you probably already knew that because of—"

He moved his free hand to his breast pocket to finish the thought.

"Oh, yeah," Sarah said dismissively. She had to admit, it was kind of adorable how shy this guy seemed to be. But she had work she needed done, and adorable could wait for later. Maybe she'd even ask him out for drinks if he could help her. Kind of a reward, of sorts.

"Anyway, _Chuck_," she added emphasis to his name, hoping to get his head back in the game. And maybe even get her hand back from his grasp. "The thing is, my laptop got fried by—well, something, and I really need the information on it, so…"

"Oh!" Chuck said, apparently snapping back into professional mode, and finally releasing the handshake. "Right, well if you let me see it."

Sarah opened her shoulder bag and produced her broken machine, plopping it down on the Nerd Herd counter.

"Look," she said, "there's some sensitive information on here, so—"

"Say no more. Customer confidentiality is my policy," he said, mimicking a Boy Scout salute.

"Well," Sarah said. "It's not just that. See, I," she paused, looking around behind her before leaning in very close to Chuck, lowering her voice to a whisper before continuing. "It's kind of my job to find information out about other companies. And it looks like I dug somewhere, someone didn't want me to be, and their security—"

"Ah, right," Chuck said. "Well have no fear. I'll have you know that I did a little hacking back in the day, so I'm all too familiar with going places I'm not supposed to be. Virtually, anyway."

"Right," Sarah nodded. "So you can understand my predicament."

And, Sarah thought, her meeting this Chuck could have been a fortunate turn of events. Sure, she knew her way around technology well enough, and she could force her way into an email server, or a poorly guarded company mainframe. But if Fulcrum was on the CIA's radar, she had no doubt she'd be out of her depth trying to hack into their files. And if she could find someone to help her, someone who knew what he was doing…

"Understand it? Of course!" Chuck said. "And honestly, you couldn't have come to a better place to get your problem resolved."

Sarah let a half smile emerge. "That's what I'm counting on, Chuck. You're my only hope."

The big, toothy grin that spread over his face told Sarah she must have said something of some significance to him. What she said, she wasn't sure. But she liked his smile, so she returned it in full. Something told her this was going to be more than she'd bargained for. But for some reason, she was completely fine with that.

* * *

_A/N: And I made it! All three updates, one day. Now I'm exhausted, haha. I hope you enjoyed this start, and all my updates today. Or at least one of them. I hope I made people happy, I guess is what I'm trying to say. Especially Cat, as it IS her birthday, at least for a few more hours. You guys are awesome. Peace. _


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